


By the Light of the Blood Moon

by wraith17



Category: Chilling Adventures of Sabrina (TV 2018)
Genre: Between scenes while they are aging so yes have some older ladies spellcest, F/F, Spellcest, The kids are mentioned - Freeform, What Have I Done, im sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-07
Updated: 2019-07-07
Packaged: 2020-06-23 22:41:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19710955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wraith17/pseuds/wraith17
Summary: A conversation between sisters while Sabrina stands trial.





	By the Light of the Blood Moon

The night is dark, the luminescence of the waning moon hidden behind a heavy curtain of mist and nimbus. The old house shudders and moans with the pressure of the oncoming storm as one of her denizens ascends the wooden staircase. Her ever present shuffle slower than the norm, the weight on her shoulders dragging her spine down into a stoop, mustard yellow cardigan pulled tight around ancient bones that only now ache with the centuries they have experienced.

Blessedly the second floor is not so far she could not make it without her nephew’s aid, the dear boy doing all he could to ease the sudden and painful acquisition of physical age and learned truths, though she takes a moment to rest next to one of her trophies, a rose pink kitten heel, the baby pink jewel on the toe winking mockingly in its preserved youth at the witch who made her a trophy of her mistress’ defeat. Hilda sighs, squinting in the inky blackness of the hallway, spying a soft glow of light peeking out from under the door of her shared bedroom - her sister waiting up, though she would deny it, and enters the room, the door closing with a soft tick behind her.

Their bedroom is a testament to the quiet resentment that has festered like the rot in Hilda’s turnips, the vegetables unable to survive the murder of their keeper, the weight of her lifeless corpse and the unceremonious way she was dragged across them, much like the relationship as of late between the two matriarchs of the fractured Spellman household and the cold truths wedging themselves between them; sisters without brothers, mothers to orphans, murder and victim. 

Zelda sits with a straight spine at her vanity, a gauzy scarf thrown haphazardly over the mirror as she brushes out practically pin straight ivory hair, a far cry from the lust strawberry blonde curls Hilda is accustomed to seeing primped and pulled into alignments by her domineering sister. Hilda still much prefers the loose and gentle waves she once would brush to shining, twist and twirl around her fist as she brought her gasping and mewling sister to heel. Those days now feel further in the past and out of reach than their days before Edward deposited a sullen and hurting Ambrose into their care, their nephew a far cry from the mischievous if not morose boy he is now; motherhood tempering the desire for exotic places, foods and people, both mortal and profane, and if recent events are any indication - each other.

The clack of their mother’s hairbrush returning to its place on the vanity pulls Hilda out of her reverie, the oppressive and choking silence of the room sending a chill of premonition (muscle memory) up the baby hairs on the nape of Hilda’s neck, and despite the anger she feels in her breast, she is the one cowering, shoulders lifting and head tucking, expecting a blow from, Satan only knows what. But Zelda does nothing save look at her with slightly widened eyes through the blurry mirror, displaying more clearly than a looking glass ought to, how her sister is the one treading on eggshells, except these eggshells are sharp with betrayal and a deep hurt without reconciliation possible that have shredded her stocking clad feet to ribbons. This time their niece, their _daughter_ in all but the body she was born from, is the one hurting from more than being told no, the ire is Hilda’s and Zelda is the one waiting.

“Sister,” Zelda begins, whatever she was about to say dying on her tongue at the tremble of her voice, throat clenching tighter than any fist Hilda has experienced, a pale and blue veined hand pulling at the high collar of her dress, its twin petting at the spider web of crow’s feet that have spread and multiplied on her once, smooth skin. “I don’t know how-” And Hilda knows she isn’t referring to the loss of her youthful form.

Perhaps it is the shorthand born from never truly being apart or the secret language that parents learn in order to present a hive mind like front to the children they are raising, but Hilda sees just as clearly as she had before the Infernal Summons had decreed that they should suffer for the crime of their child wanting to be free. Seeing her sister like this unravels something within Hilda’s chest, the sharpest edges of her emotions sanded down by Zelda’s helplessness and pleading eyes. 

Hilda comes to stand before Zelda, wisened hands smoothing the fabric of Zelda’s jacket and flexing into the foamy softness of the shoulder pads, a soothing tone lilting her voice into a cheer she does not feel but she is the nurturer, the healer and more open of the pair. Her deepest held secret, her treasure, Hilda loves her sister and she will not kick her while she is down.

“Just give her time, Zelda, Sabrina is,” a pause as she considers the right word, licking her bottom lip before continuing with a small mockery of a smile. “Processing, it’s all a bit too raw for her at the moment.”

“What I did,” Zelda begins with a certain wet quality to her voice that betrays how close to tears she really is. “I did it to protect her, you know she doesn’t have a choice.”

“None of us had a choice, except Sabrina, and he took that from her.” 

“Edward didn’t, he-”

“That’s not who I meant, Zelda.”

Zelda swallows heavily, bowing her head slightly while her hands fidget with the black pearl necklace still clasped around her throat. “I didn’t know what else to do, how could I say no?”

Hilda sighs and lightly cards her short blunt nails through Zelda’s hair, trying to think of what she can say to that. Their brother did have a way of getting what he wanted from his little sisters and for all Zelda’s austerity she adored their brother and would have done anything he asked of her. Especially if it involved their darling little niece who already had her aunties wrapped around her finger since she quickened in Diana’s belly. Hilda is broken out of her thoughts by a few strands coming loose from her combing and fluttering to rest on Zelda’s lapel, her expression crumbling as she notices the hair loss and quickly tries to snatch it up before Hilda notices.

“Zelda.” Hilda begins.

“Faustus was right, Hilda, I look hideous, I am hideous, now the outside just matches the inside.” Zelda bemoans and tosses the hair in the little waste paper basket.

“Zelda.” She tries again, more exasperated.

“Don’t, I know what I look like, I know what I’ve done.” Zelda spits and gestures to the covered mirror.

“Idiot.” Hilda snaps, tired of being talked over, digging her fingers into collarbones for emphasis.

“What?” Zelda replies, startled by her usually conciliatory sister speaking to her in such a way, already getting riled up for a fight.

“HE is an idiot for saying that, and you are equally as dense if you believe him, Zelda Phiona Spellman, you are and have always been beautiful, a few extra wrinkles doesn’t change that. And might I add that while I am so _disappointed_ in you,” She takes a deep breath to steel herself even as Zelda flinches. “These events and Sabrina’s current opinion certainly can’t erase the sixteen years of love and support you’ve given her. She will forgive you so enough with feeling sorry for yourself.” With that she yanks the scarf off the mirror, Satan save her from her sister’s dramatics. 

“You’re bored with me then?” Zelda remarks coldly, the vulnerability gone and replaced by a mask of indifference. “Is that it?”

Hilda’s eyes widen with surprise as her sister’s mood changes and she’s on her feet, fast as a viper, her only hope is that her outburst hasn’t _‘earned’_ her a trip to the Cain pit. Although this time she wonders if she would be able to fend Zelda off, the offhand complaint earlier in the day about aching fingers wasn’t lost on Hilda, perhaps if she squeezed…

But Zelda isn’t moving, no that’s not right, she’s _trembling_ , trembling with, oh. Oh, of course. This she understands, this she can give her sister. Hilda’s grasp is unrelenting as she fists Zelda’s limp white curls, yanking on the edge of pain as she drags her closer.

Zelda whines and it hits some poor neglected place under her skirts and magenta tights.

This she can do.

Hilda drags Zelda down by her hair, kissing her fiercely, teeth seeking out and sinking deep into the swell of Zelda’s lower lip, relishing her sister’s gasp as she moans deeply. The sound reverberating between them and settling low in their bellies and between their legs. Hilda all but throws Zelda then down onto her neatly made bed, the usually elegant witch panting and presenting herself like a bitch in heat titillating the younger of the pair. 

“Hilda.” She whimpers, trying to flick disheveled white locks from her eyes, squealing as Hilda’s palm comes down firmly against her buttocks. 

“This is what you want?” Hilda asks before striking again, easing herself onto the bed and tucking her own white hair behind the shell of her ear.

“Yes, please, help me.” Zelda begs, already shimmying out of her underwear, the black lace’s gusset already damp with her need as it catches on her knees. 

But Hilda does not give her the chance to do much more before her skirt is lifted, exposing arse, thighs and cunt and her hand is striking a series of slaps to the bare skin.

Zelda moans and fists her bed cover in her hands, the balled up fabric being shoved between clenching teeth, stifling her moans and mewls of pleasure as Hilda renders her arse delightfully red and sore. Her thighs slide against one other easily, seeking some kind of relief, as her cunt flushes and leaks her excitement, desperate for whatever scrap Hilda will give her.

Hilda knows this, knows the body before her almost better than her own, her own core heating up with each lewd noise that slips from her sister’s mouth, lipstick thoroughly a debauched mess and half over the duvet and her teeth as she writhes over the bed, pinned only by the promise of more swats to her arse and the threat of not coming if she doesn’t behave.

“Hush” Hilda commands, fingers stroking low and softly in a barely there touch over Zelda’s heat, stroking low and gently, her tips of her fingers just gathering moisture and sliding leisurely between her folds even as her sister absolutely does not hush and instead moans deeply, hips twitching the muscles in her thighs arching and bending her back obscenely. 

“You’re such a fucking tease, Hilda!” Zelda grits out between clenched teeth, the venom somewhat tainted by her desperate need to be fucked. She squeals in shock as she suddenly finds herself on her back, her sister’s wrinkled and scolding face above hers. Zelda surges up and captures Hilda’s lips in a kiss, vaguely aware of her underwear ripping at her knees and the buttons on her jacket going flying as Hilda’s greedy hand digs to cup and squeeze her breasts. While its counterpart thrusts sharply, two fingers filling her and curling just so, her eyelashes fluttering, red lips parting as she gasps and her back arches. _Finally_.

“There now, good girl.” Hilda mutters patronisingly, Zelda is anything but a good girl, brat would be more accurate but less effective, but the addictive way her cunt squeezes and breath hitches at the phrase makes it all worthwhile. Her fingers quicken from their steady pace inside her sister, feeling her cunt clench as her hips buck to encourage her and Zelda moans deeply. Hilda obliges, gracious sister that she is, and pulls Zelda closer by one thigh, twisting her fingers and thrusting hard against the spot inside her that has Zelda practically crawling out of her skin. 

Moment of insecurity forgotten, Zelda claws at her sister’s back through the cardigan, teeth worrying an impression into the weathered sun kissed skin at the junction of neck and shoulder as her orgasm starts to wash over her. The searing burn between her legs spurring her on as she shrieks with pleasure when the first waves crash over her senses, her chest heaving at the feeling of not enough and too much collide and clash and she’s vaguely aware of Hilda murmuring in her ear. 

When she surfaces, Zelda lazily looks them both over, brow furrowing as Hilda withdraws her fingers from inside her and starts to lick them clean like some kind of smug cat. 

“I hope that answers your question.” Hilda remarks lightly and burrows next to Zelda, arm flung over her waist and pulling her close.

“What?” She asks, without any bite, feeling far too sated to summon annoyance right now even if her life depended on it.

Hilda chuckles. “You could never be boring, sister, this is what I want. We will talk with Sabrina in the morning, and fix our girl up, together as sisters.” She says and squeezes Zelda’s shoulders lightly.

Feeling her cheeks heat up, Zelda turns her head and tucks her head under Hilda’s chin at her sister’s words wriggling closer and snuggling against her sister’s warmth, eyes heavy and drowsy with contentment.

“Forever and ever.”

**Author's Note:**

> I lied, I'm not sorry


End file.
